The XFiles
by Melitza
Summary: The only thing weirder than a case involving strange "Muggle-stuff", is seeing the case tackled by Hermione Granger paired off rather effectively with one Draco Malfoy.
1. Part 1 of 2

**Title:** The X-Files

**Original****Couple****/****Prompt:** Mulder/Scully – X-Files

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything except the things I do own. Harry Potter and X-Files not being among the latter.

**Rating:**T

**Warnings:**Innuendo, suggestive dialog

**Summary:**'Please report to HR to discuss your new partner assignment,' the neat scrawl requested. Ten neat, innocuous words were about to throw her entire world out of order, and arrange it into something entirely new.

**Notes:**Approximately 8000 thanks to my wonderful beta, cleodoxa, without whom this fic would be a literal fourth of what it is now! This fic was written for the dramioneremix challenge on LJ. I hope you enjoy!

=0=

Part 1/2

=0=

Nine months and eight days after Hermione started working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a charmed message flew into her office and plopped neatly on her desk in front of her. 'Please report to HR to discuss your new partner assignment,' the neat scrawl requested.

Ten neat, innocuous words were about to throw her entire world out of order, and arrange it into something entirely new.

=0=

One month later found them at something between a truce and an impasse. Draco Malfoy was hired on as a consultant. The Department Head had been a little too skittish to hire him full-on, given his history as a Death Eater – albeit a rather ineffective one that didn't amount to much one way or the other. But on the same note, he was also too nervous to full out _not_ hire him either, given that he and his family had been neutral in the end, and had been making very public amends.

The fact he came from a filthy rich family who, though admittedly did not have as much political pull these days, certainly had pull with some other filthy rich people who did probably helped a bit too.

Apparently, Draco had specified that if he must work with a partner, that he'd prefer for it to be Hermione. At first, she had ranted and raved about the inequity of it. Granted, her old partner had transferred to the Department of Mysteries only a few weeks before, and she had been bouncing rather unsatisfactorily between partners since. But still – that didn't give him the right to be a stick in her spoke! Or worse, to garner amusement from tormenting her!

Draco's cool response had set her back, however. "Firstly, Granger, I am no 'stick in your spoke.' You might not remember, but I scored fairly high marks myself." She did remember. He was one of the tops of the class. After her, of course. "I'm smart, and clever, and a hard worker – and I'm particularly motivated to do well here, for reasons that should be obvious." He affected a meaningful look here, and the implication was indeed clear. Doing well in Magical Law Enforcement would certainly help at clearing the big black mark on his name.

"Why me?" she finally demanded.

"Because a Malfoy settles for nothing less than the very best," he had replied softly but firmly. He held her shocked gaze it until there was no question as to the sincerity of the sentiment and she felt a fierce blush staining her cheeks.

=0=

One month and one week after Hermione had been saddled with Draco Malfoy as her erstwhile consultant-cum-partner, the prat seemed hell bent on grinding whatever uncertain little fluttering of embarrassed affection she had felt two weeks before under the heel of his boot. Also under the heel was her patience.

"It's my desk, Granger. I don't see what it matters how I decide to keep it," Draco reiterated for perhaps the hundredth time. A hundred times was a lot for one short, volatile month.

As if to demonstrate a point, he tilted his chair back and propped a boot on the surface. She swore she saw a bit of mud flake off – but couldn't really know for sure, since the surface was so littered with layers of paper and reference manuals and scrolls that she lost sight of it in the fall.

"For Merlin's sake, we share this office!"

"Yes, but not our desks. Yours is there," he jerked his chin at her tidy desk, "to lord over with a creativity-stifling iron fist as you see fit to complement your austere work style. And mine," he stomped his heel down on the desktop for emphasis, dropping more mud flakes down. Hermione twitched. "Mine is here, to maintain in a manner as keeping best to complement my more imaginative work style."

"A pigsty is not necessitated for an environment to be conducive to imagination," Hermione gritted. She was in the edge, and Merlin help her, he was pushing!

"You're just afraid of my visionary brilliance," he taunted.

"No, I'm afraid of that – that disorganized, hodgepodge _eyesore_ you call a work-area will reflect on me when people walk into this office!"

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, quit being such a drama queen, Granger."

"Tidy up, or I will," Hermione gritted through very tightly clenched teeth. He tossed his head back and laughed – then abruptly stopped when she didn't join his mirth.

"You're not serious?"

"Quite."

"Oh leave off. I don't need you mothering me."

Hermione leapt on that line of thinking. "What would your mum say if she saw this ridiculous sty?" Malfoy blanched, then quickly tried to hide it with a blasé sneer.

"She'd say the house-elves needed a swift switch in the hind for sloughing off on the job, I'd imagine," he snickered.

"I'll call your mum," she threatened, realizing how absolutely insane the notion was, but grasping wildly at straws – any straws! – that could possibly solve this problem before his mess officially drove her spare.

"You wouldn't dare," he taunted, the sneer becoming nastier in his bluff-calling.

"I once jumped onto the back of a raging dragon and rode it out of Gringotts. You think I won't call your mum?" She didn't want to, but serious times called for serious measures. If it would take Narcissa Malfoy to whip her son into a semblance of orderliness, then by hell or high water, Hermione would make that happen!

"I'll save you the trouble and just call in a house-elf then, will I?"

"Clean your desk, Malfoy," Hermione gritted.

"Quit being such a creativity-stifling harpy, Granger," Draco replied with a smarmy grin.

Oh, that was so _it_.

=0=

Two days after Hermione had tried to bully Draco into cleaning his own desk, she remembered what she had already known for a long time: when you needed something done right, it was best to just do it yourself. She walked down to the lobby to the floo with him as usual that evening, chatting amiably – then tapped her forehead and laughed, 'Oh, silly me, I forgot I wanted to check on something back in the library – I'll see you tomorrow, eh, Malfoy?' she offered, and he had left without question, so used to her enthusiastic above-and-beyond researching. Though he occasionally complained that her tedious fact-checking cramped his style, he mostly just shrugged her off with an eye-roll and went about prepping for a case in a manner more befitting his laissez faire tastes.

Hermione rubbed her hands eagerly and trotted back to the office for a long night of organizing. Few things gave her more pleasure – but certainly this case was particularly sweet since she was, in essence, reclaiming her office like a ruler reclaiming lost territory.

The next morning saw Draco Malfoy officially flipping his lid.

"Where did all my notes go? My diagrams? My – my – where did all my things go?" Draco screamed, hands sunk into his thick blond locks and tugging erratically in frustration. "Circe's tits – where – where –" He let out a guttural sound that was some hybrid conglomeration of a moan, a groan, and a scream. It didn't sound pleasant in the least, at any rate.

Taking pity on him (and rather keen to avoid having to deal with him if he passed out after going into the full-blown hyperventilation fit he was well on his merry way into), Hermione cheerfully handed him a little index card box she had picked up in a Muggle stationary store two nights previous in preparation for her midnight conquest. "I filed them all. Alphabetized by the apparent subject – though obviously I couldn't alphabetize the drawings, so –"

"Alphabetized – alphabetized?" His face went from white to red – and for a moment, Hermione worried that he was literally going to blow a fuse. She didn't know precisely how that would go in a human, but it certainly couldn't be pretty. "_Alphabetized?_"

"Surely you're familiar – it's where you file by the first letter –"

"_I__know__what__alphabetized__bloody__means,__Granger!_ What I don't know is what – what _possessed_ you to – to – You ruined it! You _ruined_ it!"

"Well that hardly sounds like a thank you," Hermione deadpanned, sniffing in distaste at his tantrum.

"Thank you? Thank you! I'll show you thank you!" Draco turned around and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him – then, before she could even blink, he whirled back in the office, jabbing his finger at her threateningly. "You'll wish you had left well enough alone, Granger – just you wait!"

"You're welcome!" she screamed at the twice-slammed door.

=0=

The next day, Malfoy was as calm as if the previous incident had never happened. When he caught her watching him warily from the corner of her eye still a full two days later, he offered a very genteel smile and hands raised, as if in supplication.

"I gave it some thought and realized you were right, Granger. I was a bit remiss in keeping order to my things. I apologize. Thank you."

An apology _and_ a thank you? Hermione was suddenly on guard.

True, Draco was a changed man – he was mostly decent these days, if still a bit of an arrogant prat – but he still was a Malfoy, and apologies and thank you's… Well. They were a rarity.

"Erm… You're welcome?" she demurred, sensing a trap.

"No. Really. Thank you," he replied with emphasis, and though it may have been her imagination, she would always swear that she heard the sound of a trap snapping closed around her in that moment.

=0=

Four days after Hermione had so considerately cleaned Draco's desk for him, she opened the door to her office – and promptly screamed.

"What – what _is_ this?"

"I should think that's rather obvious, Granger. It's a desk," Malfoy replied cheerily from his favorite position – reclined in his chair, with his feet propped up on his desk.

Except his desk – his desk –

"It – it's half the size of the office!" she shrieked.

"Oh, you're being dramatic," Draco drawled lazily in response, looking around him appraisingly. "It's a third, tops."

"I can't even get to my desk!"

"I swear, if I had known your inclination for hysterics –"

"I am not being hysterical! I - I can't work in here! I can barely breathe in here!"

"Well I can't work in a stifling environment – and since you can't stand to look at my notes and such, I decided to humor you and get a desk that could contain –"

"This isn't a standard issue department desk!"

"Of course not," Draco scoffed, stroking the behemoth slab lovingly. "I spoke with the DH about my conundrum and asked if there were any rules against personally purchasing a desk more suitable to my needs – and he had no objection."

"I'm sure the DH hasn't seen this – this – monstrosity!" Hermione slapped her hands down on the desk for emphasis. She didn't even need to take more than a step into the office until she was flush against it. Her first instinct, of course, was to strangle Draco – but that would require leaping a full two meters across the expanse to get to him.

"Monstrosity – hardly! This desk is a Chief Warlock among Court Scribes. Or a king among men, if you'd prefer."

"I wouldn't prefer! What I'd prefer, is for you to get this thing out of my office!"

"Our office, Granger. Honestly, didn't your parents teach you to share?"

The gall of him! "Did yours?"

"Of course they did. They also taught me to compromise – and thus my selfless efforts here. I went and spent my own galleons – a hefty sum, mind you – to get a desk that would allow me to maintain an environment that is not an apparent visual scourge to you, but also doesn't smother me with your anally retentive orderliness. It's a win-win situation, really." Slowly, meaningfully, he unfolded his feet from the desk and raised himself to his full height, and leaned his hands down on the table to mirror her position from the opposite side.

Hermione paused – counted to ten – then again in French when she still thought she might explode. Then, exploded anyway. "I want it gone! Now!"

A slow, dangerous smirk dragged at the corner of lips. "That doesn't sound like a thank you," he recited her own words back to her with honey-coated false sincerity.

"I'll give you a proper thank you," Hermione snarled, and whipped out her wand, then pointed it threateningly at the desk.

Draco twitched. "This is thousand year old ebony sequoia!"

"You're going to have more thousand year old ebony sequoia toothpicks than you know what to do with if this thing isn't gone –"

"Honestly, Granger, it's no wonder your hair is so wild and untamed once it's escaped your head. With a temper like that always ready to fly, it's probably just thankful to be escaping that boiler room at long last!"

"I can't work with no space to move – and – I can't even get to the bookshelves with this thing filling every little bit of space! You even pushed my desk so close to the wall that I don't even know if I can fit –"

"Well. That sounds like more of a personal problem," he sniggered. Hermione let loose a few warning sparks, causing Draco to jerk out his own wand in defense.

"I'll just lop this thing down into a more manageable size, now, then," she threatened, feeling just a little on the edge. If she were going to be truthful with herself, there was something wildly funny about the entire situation. Though she was undoubtedly angry, she couldn't deny the irony of the situation, nor the clever, wry humor behind his scheme.

That said, the desk still had to go.

"Do it," Draco dared, calling her bluff. "There'll just be another, bigger one in here tomorrow."

There would be, she knew. While he clearly was attached to the desk, he had the means to purchase another. So unless she planned on destroying desks until the world simply ran out of thousand year old sequoia (and truly, Hermione had been raised with at least a little cultural sensitivity, and she really didn't want to destroy something precious and rare if she didn't have to), she had to think fast and figure out somewhere else to hit him where it might actually hurt…

Like his pride.

"I'll tell everyone the desk is thinly veiled – ahem – compensation."

Draco blinked – then blinked again. "You wouldn't," he replied, flatly.

"You think I won't?" It was Hermione's turn to sneer. "Try me."

"No one will believe you," he shot back.

"Won't they?" she blinked with false guilelessness. The implication was clear without needing to be spoken: she was one third of the Golden-Trio, for one. And why in the world would she lie about something so vulgar, for two?

They stood off on opposite sides of the desk for what felt like a small piece of eternity before Draco finally, very carefully, offered an olive-branch.

"I'll tell you what, Granger. You let me keep shop without utterly stifling me, and I will refrain from filling the office with any desks that utterly stifle you. Deal?"

"You keep your notes and manuals and scrolls and all that nonsense contained on your desk," Hermione shot back. "And if it gets too bad, you have to at least make a little bit of effort to tidy up. At least a little."

"Deal," Draco agreed.

"Deal," Hermione snapped immediately – then blinked when his self-satisfied smirk returned. Working it over in her head, she realized that she had just essentially agreed to go back to how things had been before their little tete-a-tete. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Check-mate, I see. You're quite Slytherin you know," she sniffed distastefully.

"And you're more Slytherin than you'd like to admit," Draco replied with a wry (dare she say, flirty?) wink.

The next morning, Hermione entered her office and noted with satisfaction that the outrage had been replaced by a much more mundane (and more importantly, reasonably sized) standard-issue Department desk, set at an L to hers, so the pair could confer, but still work with a relative level of autonomy. They were both fairly independent, studious, hard-working types, after all. Even if Draco was a little bit of a slob.

Somehow, within the course of a day, the desk had been promptly covered in so many sticky notes and sheets of paper and reference manuals that it was as if a bomb had exploded upon it - again. Never mind the Muggle-pencils that mysteriously appeared lodged in the ceiling over his chair, or the paper airplanes that were found stranded behind and among her bookcases nestled on the wall opposite him.

This time, Hermione found herself oddly far less bothered by it. She'd right the odd quil that tipped over, or tidy up scroll stacks every once in awhile – but really, Draco seemed to be making an effort to at least make it look less like a disaster area these days. He was trying – and so was she. And, well, whenever the odd secretary or client came in and gave a curious look at the dichotomy between their desks, she found herself rolling her eyes and smiling somewhat indulgently. "Boys will be boys, I suppose," she'd explain, just like she had a million times again for Harry and Ron once upon a time. And well, if she felt a slight tingling of familiar fondness occasionally tugging at that… well, it was probably best just to ignore it.

=0=

Four months later saw Hermione entering a place she had never thought she'd find herself entering with Draco.

"I don't understand why we're checking these… these…"

"Skuzz-holes?" Draco drawled. He arched a brow at her as if to mock her, but the effort was somewhat ruined when he winced and pulled his robe sleeve over his hand before touching the door knob of the inn they were entering.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Yes." She wasn't sure if Wizards used the term 'motels', but certainly this hovel didn't warrant the quaint, cute term 'inn'. She moved to grab the door from Draco, then thought better of it upon seeing the oily film on the handle. Yes, skuzzy was a fairly spot-on description. She squeezed around him and scurried through the door before he let go from opening it for himself. He rolled his eyes at her, but didn't comment. "I mean – he's fairly rich, so why would he –"

"Fairly' being the key word in that assessment, Granger," Draco interrupted. "If he were filthy rich – or hell, even bloody rich – then he could afford, oh, a villa, or a flat, or even an opulent hotel room for his dirty deeds. But as it is, he's just _fairly_ rich. So." He made an encompassing gesture with his hands. "Welcome to the readily available, easily explained-away offices of those with something to hide. Being of the upper class, he won't run into someone he knows in a place like this – not like he would at any place nicer. As a bonus, a Scourgifying is done by staff after each visitor in most any inn, even the nasty skuzzy ones like this, so even if any evidence were to be left behind, our friendly local smuggler couldn't even be accused of having tried to dispose of the evidence himself – though I'm sure he does some preliminary sweep work, mind you. And even if they were to connect him to the room – well, any contraband left strewn about could have been a visitor to the same room before or after his stay, right? Especially since I'm sure people staying here get up to all sorts of doping and whatnot, which would contaminate any possible shred of evidence left behind."

Hermione blinked, realizing she couldn't find any fault in his logic. It was true. Their smuggler needed a neutral location to make the exchanges, someplace different each time, that would be cleaned to remove evidence, and ideally doubled-over by someone else so any magic-tracing spells would not flag directly back to him or any affiliates. She would have thought of a room at an inn. That part was easy. She might even have been able to narrow down to which ones were within the man's price range. But, she wouldn't have thought of their mark avoiding anything higher class to avoid being recognized – and certainly wouldn't have thought of the 'bonus' of other illicit activity and spells in the room cross-contaminating evidence all to hell.

"You know Draco, that's all… very ingenious of you to figure out, actually."

"Of course it is," he snorted. "You're the one memorizing the book, and I'm the ingenious one reading in-between the lines. You'll get this partnership all worked out yet."

"Oh, I think I have it all worked out all right – but I think it's something more like you being insufferable," she huffed – then blushed slightly when she realized she wasn't angry at all, but was (horror!) actually flirting with him. In a rather embarrassingly obvious tone, too!

Draco blinked once – then twice – then coughed abruptly into his hand. Probably to try (but fail) to hide the faint blush on his cheeks. He opened his mouth to respond – but was saved when the innkeeper came rushing into the room to help them.

Sadly, the slum-visit turned out to be a wash. The innkeeper (motel-keeper? scuzz-hole keeper?) adamantly denied ever having seen the suspect, and moreover, even scouring through the records for any signs of tampering, or use or any of the man's known aliases turned up blank. The man even willingly took Veritaserum to prove his innocence.

Five skuzz-holes later revealed nothing more than five very nervous innkeepers who promised to call them if the man in the photograph ever did show up. Draco politely thanked the latest innkeeper for his participation, calmly walked out the front door – and proceeded to violently kick the wall.

"This was the last place I could think of! I _know_ what he's up to, and I _know_the kind of establishment he has to be using, but I can't think of any other places nearby that fit the bill! This was the last! He can't be leaving the region – we'd have tracked that…"

Hermione frowned, equally puzzled over the conundrum. But, after a long moment of contemplation, something occurred to her – namely, her own musing over Wizarding vs Muggle vocabulary on their first visit. "We've only checked the Wizarding Inns of ill repute. Why haven't we checked any of the equivalent skuzzy motels in the area on the Muggle side?" she asked, pragmatic as always.

"What is a 'motel'?" he asked blankly.

"A place where a full grown man in a cloak would leave quite a lasting impression," she responded, pursing her lips to keep from grinning in excitement.

As it turned out, full grown men in cloaks _did_ leave quite a lasting impression. And so did meticulously kept visitor records and receipts, complete with signature - _actual_ signature, not even an alias. Apparently, their friendly local smuggler had been very confident indeed on no one thinking to check Muggle motels as his transaction point.

Sitting back and propping his feet up in self-satisfaction after the Wizengamot had sent their mark off, guilty as charge, Draco leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Y'know Granger, I take back what I said. You might just be a little bit ingenious too. But just a little bit. And only every once in awhile." The wry, almost affectionate grin on his face took any possible sting out of the words.

Hermione found it impossible to smother an answering grin. "And you might not be completely insufferable. But only a little bit. And only every once in awhile."

=0=

Ten months after their assignment together, Hermione was willing to admit it: he had grown on her. Draco Malfoy wasn't a bad partner. And quite frankly, they worked fairly well together.

That's why when she waltzed into her office that morning and opened a neat little folded sheet of paper on her desk that read 'Please report to HR to discuss your new partner assignment', it was a very difficult task to keep from choking back a cry of despair.

Draco came waltzing into the office twenty-two minutes after her. She had used every one of those twenty-two minutes to convince herself that it wasn't so bad, that it would be ok – that she wasn't feeling heartache far more profoundly than she really ought to be.

She stared hard at him while he propped down cheerfully at his desk, waiting patiently for him to discover the neat little folded parchment that matched hers among all the others strewn about on the desk.

The extra papers managed to camouflage the department notice for an additional two minutes and forty seconds, and never in Hermione's life had she been so thankful for that ridiculously sloppy desk. Now thinking back on all the times she had harangued him over it, her heart actually ached a little.

It was paltry consolation that his face whitened just as much as she imagined hers had when she had read her notice. He only continued to look more ill as he read on to the attached memo, which commended them on their fantastic partnership thus far, and assured them that their work had been absolutely brilliant – so brilliant, in fact, that the DH thought a division of their considerably talents would be in the department's best interest. Divide and conquer, split and multiply or some such rubbish.

"Well, let's look on the bright side," she chirped with false cheer, once she was certain he finished reading the note. "You won't have anyone tripping underfoot and holding you up with copious amounts of research, or being a harpy about the way you keep your work area." He visibly winced as she brought up the points he had flippantly complained about her work style a handful of times over the last year of working together. "And I'll have someone who won't drive me crazy 'baiting' and only reading 'between' the lines instead of bothering to read the lines."

"Yes, well," he had responded – then cleared his voice when it came out sounding a bit hoarse. "I suppose it's best we not draw this out. Shall we?"

=0=

Two weeks after 'The Reassignment' saw Draco carrying his little box of effects into her office, dumping it rather unceremoniously onto the center of his desk, then dropping dramatically to his knees and placing a loud, smacking kiss to the center of 'his' desk.

"Home, sweet home!" he cried melodramatically.

"I heard your former partner rather dramatically threatened to quit if she weren't un-tethered from such a 'lazy, arrogant, worthless excuse of a prat' in due haste," Hermione offered by way of greeting. She couldn't quite keep the smirk off her face.

"That twit was a bore," Draco whined, raising himself off the floor to plop hard onto his chair. Then, like a bored child, he set the chair to spinning. "And three quarters of the way to useless, too! I swear, she only skimmed the mission briefings –"

Against her will, Hermione felt her lips twitch. "Oh, horror!" she sniggered. "I can't imagine _anyone_doing something like that!" She covered her mouth and mocked a cough that sounded suspiciously like "Draco!"

Draco continued on as if he hadn't heard her. "And I swear, she didn't remember anything she did read from them either! I'd ask her, 'Do you remember if the neighbor we're to interview was a Mr. Johnson or a Mr. Jeanson?' and she'd be all, 'I dunno! Tee hee hee! Guess we better check on that!'" They both winced at his high-pitched imitation of his short-tenured partner – but even the ear-splitting shrill wasn't quite enough to put him off his tirade. "And research! Research! Don't even get me started on research! You'd think it'd kill her – or worse, break all ten of her nails at once – to visit the library for a spot of research!"

Hermione affected him an indulgent smile. "I thought you were more of the 'winging it' type?" she baited, reiterating back to him his repeated refute as to why he wasn't shouldering more of the research responsibility whenever she snapped at him.

"Yes, well," he huffed. "Let's just say I've seen the shortcoming of my ways, and fully appreciate how much your research has been greasing the wheels, Granger."

"You're welcome," she replied, realizing that was probably as close to a 'thank you' as she'd likely get.

"Yes, well," he huffed. Then, abruptly, he stopped spinning – facing away from her. His sudden stillness startled her. "You?"

"Me?"

"Yes, well, it can't have been all sunshine and rainbows around here, seeing as your saddled with me again," he pried.

She blinked once, surprised by his about-face in mood. Granted, he had always had a somewhat volatile personality – but she was a little unsettled by the reticence in his tone. Suddenly realizing he was fishing – and that he actually sounded a little insecure – she felt a little thrill of affection rush through her.

"It was rather dull," she said, truthfully. Very slowly, he turned his chair back around to face her.

"Dull? That's it?"

"Well – he was a perfectly nice fellow. But he didn't have much to say – not beyond what I already figured for myself. He never even argued with me on anything, so I found myself agonizing trying to figure out how to challenge myself to look at things from another angle and come to a more thorough conclusion. But… it's rather difficult to try and be a separate point of view from oneself." She pursed her lips in distaste. "The work getting done around here was mediocre. And quite frankly, that killed me."

Very slowly throughout her account, a smile had stretched across Draco's lips. At the end, he laughed outright. "Yes, I suppose it would kill you to put out mediocre work, Head Girl."

Hermione beamed back. Then, abruptly, she softened her expression, and lowered her tone meaningfully. "Oh, and there was one more thing…"

"Yeah?"

"He didn't read between the lines."

Of course, Draco, being an expert at such things, would have no problem doing just that and hearing what she really meant: '_He__wasn__'__t__you._'

=0=

One year after they were first assigned together, Draco was acting rather… off. He kept glancing at her, then quickly looking away when she caught him. He was pacing rather more than typical, and sticking far fewer Muggle pencils into the ceiling than was usual.

Finally unable to stand his restlessness a moment longer, Hermione barked, "Well, out with it then!"

"You don't suppose the department has strict guidelines on dating co-workers?" he asked, with such blunt guilelessness that there was no question that was exactly what had been on his mind.

Hermione's stomach plummeted. "Uhm – well, if you're referring to yourself, you're technically a consultant, so I'm not sure you'd fall into the jurisdiction anyway. But to answer your question specifically, no, not strict ones. Keeping hanky-panky out of the office, yes, and there are guidelines against dating direct superiors or –"

"So, do you like… dinner?"

Hermione blinked. "Um… yes. I suppose I do like dinner – as much as any other meal, that is."

Draco slapped his palm against his forehead. "Of course you do. Um, what I meant to say, was, would you like to go to dinner with me?" He looked about ready to crawl out of his skin with nerves – and it was all Hermione could do to keep from running her fingers through his hair, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him to her and never letting him go.

"Draco, I would _love_ to go to dinner with you," she replied with mock seriousness. Then, she grinned impishly – a look which he returned immediately.

Ten neat, innocuous words were about to throw her entire world out of order, and arrange it into something entirely new.

=0=


	2. Part 2 of 2

**Title:** The X-Files

**Original****Couple****/****Prompt:** Mulder/Scully – X-Files

**Disclaimer:**I don't own anything except the things I do own. Harry Potter and X-Files not being among the latter.

**Rating:**T

**Warnings:**Innuendo, suggestive dialog

**Summary:**'Please report to HR to discuss your new partner assignment,' the neat scrawl requested. Ten neat, innocuous words were about to throw her entire world out of order, and arrange it into something entirely new.

=0=

Part 2/2

=0=

One year and five months after first being assigned together, Hermione and Draco found themselves puzzling over a rather annoying conundrum. They knew their mark was selling Wizarding goods maliciously to Muggles, and while they had enough evidence to put him away for that, they weren't quite sure who was supplying. They had a fairly good idea – having trailed him carefully for months, they had pretty firm suspicions on who his contacts were, but thus far had been unable to actually catch the exchange.

The reason became fairly obvious: the exchanges had to be taking place at a time when they were unable to watch him. And that would be during the rather ritzy, hoity-toity pureblood functions he'd throw on a bi-monthly basis. The parties were fairly large, so there was no way everyone who attended was involved in the dirty work – but, as Hermione had learned from Draco, sometimes it was easiest to hide things right in plain sight.

The problem was, it just wasn't in _their_ sight, and thus far, they'd been unsuccessful in getting anyone to be able to confirm anything… So the solution was obvious, even if the execution wasn't.

Crouching low outside the property, Hermione reiterated the situation in a low voice again. "There's anti-Apparition boundaries up around the place to keep us from just jumping in – the Floo is being watched like a hawk – and if we try to flash badges to get in, it'll shut down our illicit activity faster than water on a flame. There are anti-spy charms locking the place down, probably Polyjuice sniffers and Transfiguration detectors, and likely charms that'll set off alarms if we try to sneak in a window the old fashioned way too…"

"Hermione Granger, contemplating climbing in through a window? What in the world happened to the swottish marm I used to know?" Draco drawled teasingly.

"She was rather perverted by one Draco Malfoy, I'd imagine," Hermione replied with a falsely austere sniff.

"I'll say," Draco leered. "I mean, take last week - I said I thought a little dress-up might be nice – but I just meant nice robes! That naughty-librarian ensemble? That was truly inspired, darling! And the French-maid – well! If all Muggle clothes are so –"

"Focus," Hermione interrupted in a brusque tone, thankful for the darkness covering her deep blush.

"Oh believe me, I am," he replied, sidling a hand over her bum. She slapped it off before he had a chance to pinch her.

"Focus, or it'll be another two months before we get another shot at this!" she hissed, elbowing him hard in the ribs. "I have an alternate plan I've been working on – but I need to be able to get close enough to actually talk to someone. Someone who is going to be inside and close to the mark. Or at least wouldn't raise suspicion being near the drop."

Draco paused and contemplated for a moment. Then, quietly, he asked, "Do you suppose the manservant at the door would do?"

"Hm – yes, I'd think –"

"Well, there's nothing for it then, I suppose," he sighed deeply. Abruptly, he stood, and with a swish and flick of his wand, she felt her comfortable robes whip and reform onto her into something far more elegant.

"Draco! This is _not_ the time to satisfy your fetish–"

"As much as I like the way you think, darling, that isn't what this is about at all. We've already established we aren't going to be able to get in – so I'll guess we'll just have to make this a plain vanilla social call and hope they don't blast us on sight."

Draco grabbed her hand and was dragging her confidently towards the front door before she even had a chance to think about backing out. Once he got there, he made as if he was going to walk right in past the butler – and Merlin's britches, it very nearly worked too!

Sometimes, Malfoy's brilliance lay in his sheer brass. She couldn't count the number of times he had got them out of a tight spot by his sheer entitlement act.

"This is by invite only, sir," the manservant at the door sniffed, shoving an arm out to block them from proceeding, peering down his nose at them suspiciously.

"Oh, I'm sure my name is on the list somewhere," Draco said haughtily. "Malfoy and wife?"

"Wife?" the steward asked primly, arching a brow at Hermione skeptically. "Though in shadow you might pass for your father, _young_ Malfoy, a Narcissa this one is not – in any light." Before Hermione had a chance to huff in indignation at the implication, Draco had wrapped both arms tightly around her and pressed his cheek against hers in a sickeningly saccharine gesture.

"Oh, I should hope not. Wouldn't that be terribly bizarre, for my sweetum's to share a countenance to my mother?" He trilled a laugh that was just a note too high to be mistaken as purely calm. The jig was up, but it wouldn't do for the man to put up an immediate alarm, so Draco's impudence marched on. "Hahaha, isn't that a laugh, darling?"

"Uhm… Yes, that's a regular gas," she tittered in nervous response – then looked meaningfully between Draco and her sleeve. He needed to keep the man distracted while she slowly drew her wand!

The steward continued to frown, very clearly unimpressed. "You do realize that a mere lowly manservant I might be, but a social eunuch I am not. If the Malfoy heir had married, I would know." He fixed his skeptical look at Hermione. "And I believe I'd remember Harry Potter's best friend from all those covers of the Prophet."

"Uh –" Draco was visibly sweating. "Well, look here, you see –"

"And though I've not heard much about what you've been up to these days, my boss has certainly made a point to know that Miss Granger is in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. So, I can only imagine the purpose of this visit," he finished in dry, clipped tones.

"Uh – yes – but –" Draco faltered. He gestured wildly. "You see, I have this proposition – if you'd just take a look at this –"

It was rather lame as far as distractions went, but the butler seemed so bemused by Draco's obvious ploy that he wasn't even paying attention as Hermione settled her wand in hand.

"Excuse me," Hermione tapped the man on the shoulder. When he looked back at her, she smiled cheerily and brandished the wand she had hidden up her sleeve directly between his eyes. "Obliviate."

"Granger!" Draco hissed, thoroughly scandalized. "It's illegal to Obliviate without –"

"Who's going to turn me in? Him?" She smirked at him and arched a brow. "Or you?"

While Draco was spluttering, Hermione leaned forward and slipped a little digital voice recorder into the man's pocket. "I believe your boss wanted you to keep at close hand, sir?" she prompted – and just like that, the man turned, shut the door, and left Draco and Hermione to beat a hasty exit off the front lawn.

"What in the world did you slip into his pocket?" Draco demanded once they were a safe distance away. "Was that a Muggle bomb?"

She rolled her eyes; she needed to acquaint him with some less dramatic Muggle media, apparently. "Hardly, Draco. It was a digital recorder. I've learned to charm them so they don't short around magic. But the charms are minor enough that the recorder shouldn't set off any of the anti-tampering and anti-spying wards clamping the place down." She grinned brightly at him. "Sometimes, Wizarding ignorance of Muggle technology is right useful. I'll just Accio that back at the end of the night, and assuming our marks were talking – which I think we can be well assured of at this point – well, it should be easy to match voices to people, since we already have our list to choose from. And we've already been making strides for making evidence gathered by Muggle technology admissible in court, so it should be a cinch from there."

"Illegally Obliviating, planting a Muggle recorder on the mark's own servant and sicing him back on his boss – Granger, there's no doubt that you're brilliant, but very, very perverted." Draco ran his fingers lightly down her spine. "I think I really, really like it."

Hermione granted him a saucy wink. "So how confident would you feel in Transfiguring these robes into a few other forms being turning them back to normal?"

"Oh, very," he promised.

As it turned out, he was good to his word.

=0=

One year and six months after their assignment together, Hermione felt her eyebrow rising for the umpteenth time as she continued to scan through the seemingly never-ending stack of paper outlining the case that had been fobbed off on her this morning.

Draco, as per usual, was lounging on the other side of the room, chair tilted precariously, feet propped stolidly on the little mini-desk situated in what he had deigned 'his corner' of the office. _Her_ office, in point of fact, but he always called it _the_ office, probably just to get her goat. He did that sometimes.

Sometimes, she wondered if he had orchestrated "The Desk Incident" (as it had come to be known all throughout the Department of Magical Law Enforcement) for a source of perpetual needling amusement. Perhaps he had only ever brought that honking piece of insanity into her office to use as an eternal 'well it could be worse' anecdote to hang over her head and use as leverage to win fights.

He probably had; dratted Slytherin.

"Are you done reading that yet?" Draco whined, drawing Hermione out of her musing of how she had gotten here – reading a mission briefing in her shared office with Draco Malfoy of all people – whom, for all intents and purposes, it seemed, she was pretty much stuck with – and back to the scroll itself in question. "You've got to be done. We're ready to get on to the exciting part and actually go _investigate_, right?" he needled. Rather impetuously at that, if one were to ask Hermione.

She smothered the urge to roll up the thick stack of paperwork and wallop him a good one in the head with it. "No," she replied with more patience than she was feeling.

In truth, it wasn't the reading material itself setting her off, so much as the fact that while yes, she had been later getting into the office because of a department meeting this morning, she seriously doubted he had read the case file cover to cover in the mere twenty-five minutes she had been gone. True, Draco was a quick reader, and yes, he was inarguably brilliant – but sometimes, she wondered if he just skimmed and then took it for granted that she'd be poring over the details. Through careful, deliberate quips, he would glean what knowledge he needed off her, and beyond that, generally fly by the seat of his pants.

When she had once confronted him to ask if he did just that, he had shrugged as if it were no matter, and gave a rather enigmatic response. "You're Hermione Granger. You're the details girl."

And that was absolutely true. Hermione was the one driven by logic and knowledge. The one who insatiably hounded the details and sorted all the information into perfect, clean little columns of black and white… She was good at what she did. Nay, she was _fabulous_ at what she did!

And then there was Draco, who came in and tackled it all with a seemingly lackadaisical, illogical kind of laissez faire attitude that at first drove Hermione spare. He would shrug, dismiss the seemingly foregone conclusions and shoot absolutely wild theories out, seemingly from the hip. He saw the world not in black and white facts, but in feral, pulsating technicolor. He was the _feel_ to Hermione's _think_, and the _do_ to Hermione's _plan_…

And, admittedly, Hermione historically was a rather big fan of wild, shooting from the hip plans. She had used the Time Turner to save Buckbeak and Sirius Black back in third year (rather rebelliously, if she were to say so herself, given the possible nature of space-time-continuum continuity issues and all that rubbish). She had lied to Delores Umbridge and lured her into the Forbidden Forest for noble yet nefarious purposes! And, most wildly of all, she had been the one to lead Harry and Ron into jumping headfirst onto a dragon – a _dragon_ - and riding it out of Gringotts! If there were anyone who was able to appreciate a good turn of outside-the-box thinking, it was Hermione.

Together – together they were _brilliant_. He was the ying to her yang, and yes, though he might drive her round the bend now and again (ok, more likely than not), she found the drive was actually rather scenic. They tempered one another, and were better together than apart.

It had only been a matter of time until that had translated into personal life as well, she supposed.

Hermione made a little whining noise of discontent as yet _another_ paragraph in the file ended with a 'cause unknown – further investigation on the subject required.' It seemed there were a _lot_ of questions lurking herein, and if she was going to lay bets on it (which she wouldn't, of course; betting was for fools and optimists, and Hermione always likened herself more of a realist), she'd say this was shaping up to be a rather large headache.

Skimming on, she suddenly halted, and re-read a phrase that had caught her attention. "'Presumed _fairy__dust_– strewn all about the scene, no other possibility comes to mind. All magical testing comes back false'? Do they even realize how unlikely it is for some teenager to have got fairy dust? 'Doused in opal-dragon's blood'? While a pair of teenagers conveniently go missing for a few hours, but come back perfectly unharmed but scandalously ruffled? Oh please! This sounds like some drama set for the OC, not a case from the X-Files…"

"X-Files?" Draco repeated blankly. Then, slowly, a leer crawled across his face. "Wait, X, like the Muggle –"

Seeing where he was going with this, Hermione quickly cut him off at the pass. "No."

Unfettered, Draco waved a hand imperiously, rejecting her denial, then slapped both hands down on her desk and leaned his weight on them. The better to tower over her, she was sure. "But you said –"

"No," Hermione repeated, more firmly this time. Not one to be 'towered over' at any rate, Hermione put her own hands on the table and stood up to meet him eye to eye.

" – X was a rating used on –"

"Draco! No!" She furrowed her brow and frowned a little harder, to better convey her sternness in this matter, but her oft-times infuriating partner was undeterred. Or, perhaps, seeing a chance to rile his girlfriend, was being deliberately provocative. His smirk grew a little bigger, even as he raised his voice a little more.

" –full frontals of wang or kitty –"

"NO, NO, NO!" Over her shouting (and now hand-slamming on the table between them for emphasis), it was easy to miss the faint coughing sound of someone having entered the room and trying to politely interrupt.

" – like that dastardly little Robin Hood production we caught the other week, you know, the one with all the Merry Maidens –?"

But neither was able to miss the subsequent _bang_ as Harry Potter walloped a fist down on Hermione's filing cabinet. Both of them jumped and whirled to face the Boy-Who-Lived-Died-then-Lived-Again, who was looking very unamused. Hermione ducked her head in embarrassment and no little contrition; Draco, meanwhile, merely smirked, seemingly even _more_ amused now that there was a confirmed witness to their little debacle.

"Honestly, you two! It's questionable enough that the department lets you work together at all! But if you begin to make a habit of loudly arguing about _pornographic_ things, you're going to raise more than a few eyebrows!"

"We don't technically 'work together', in a strict manner of speaking," Draco coolly interjected. "I'm a consultant, remember?"

"And the department writes you a hefty check to _do__work__for__them_. Work that isn't, say, even in the _same__realm_ as pornography!"

"I have two points to make in response. Firstly, it's quite a misnomer for you to say we're making a habit of say, _indelicate_ discussions. One time is _hardly_a habit, Potter."

Harry stared at Draco very hard, his eyes sparking flashes of warning. "The lunchroom, last week."

"Oh posh," Draco dismissed with an airy wave of his hand. "My lunch hour is a free hour to do with as I please. You can't use things I say or do during my lunch hour against me!"

"I most certainly can!"

"Point. _You_ can; the department can't."

"Two weeks ago, outside the girls loo –"

"What, a man can't be appreciative of his girlfriend –"

"Three weeks ago, in the lobby –"

"For your information –"

"_Enough!_" Hermione shouted, slamming her hand onto the table for a second time. "That's enough, boys! Point made!" When both boys opened their mouths (probably to demand _whose_ point, the stubborn gits), she hastened to change the subject.

"What was the second thing you wanted to say, then Draco? Make your second point already so we can drop this ghastly subject and get back to work!"

Draco frowned hard at Harry for an extra moment, but then was quick to shrug and let a cool, reserved air settle back over him. That only seemed to serve to rifle Harry that much more – but then again, it always had, so it really wasn't much of a surprise either way. It wasn't that Harry truly disliked Draco – not anymore – in point of fact, for a long while he had been downright _sappily_ friendly with the git, when Hermione had first started seeing him, trying to make it very clear that he would support his best friend in whatever endeavor she chose to pursue (even if it was a "barmy" one, as he so eloquently put it). But they had both seemed to come to some kind of silent agreement that… well… the slight animosity just suited them more comfortably, as long as the barbs and jabs were on the surface only.

"Well, my second point was to say that it was you who brought it up first, anyway."

Both Harry and Hermione gaped at him, though only Hermione squawked out an indignant, "_What?_" in response. Draco only nodded coolly.

"Well, it's true! You go referencing the X-Files, and what am I to think?"

"X-Files?" Harry scrunched up his nose for a moment in thought – then, abruptly, barked out a quick laugh. "Yes, I suppose Wizards would see any case involving Muggles like something from the X-Files, wouldn't they?"

"You watched the X-Files?" Hermione cried in delight. The Boy-Who-Could-Defeat-An-Evil-Overlord-But-Couldn't-Tame-His-Hair nodded emphatically in response.

"Of _course_ I watched the X-Files!" he chirped. "They played late-night marathons. Since my only time on the telly was to sneak some in after the Dursleys had gone to sleep, I had the choice of either that, some soap re-runs, or weird infomercials. X-Files won by a long shot." He grinned cheekily.

"Do you remember the Arcadia episode?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"Oh – oh, yes! Do you remember the look on the neighbors face when he painted the mailbox? Oh, or when they got the toxicology report back and it was _ketchup_?"

"Oh my god, and the mirror pool? That was _so__funny!_"

They both pealed with laugher then. It was only moments later, when she was catching her breath, that Hermione noticed the distinctly unpleasant wince on Draco's face – as if he had swallowed something very sour.

"What?" Hermione demanded, frowning hard at him.

"You watched _porn_ with _Potter_?" He spit the two words out as if they were the most distasteful things to have ever resided within his mouth.

Their peals of laughter probably made for a less than palatable response.

=0=

Two weeks of heavy investigation and expenses-paid sleuthing about revealed exactly what Hermione had said to begin with: it was more a case that belonged in a teenage soap opera than a Magical Law Enforcement special task force's summarizing report.

Sure enough, the 'fairy dust' had been nothing more than Muggle glitter. (Much to Draco's embarrassment after his initial bout of utter wonder at the sheer volume of seemingly very rare stuff scattered about 'the crime scene'.) And the 'Opel dragon's blood' had been revealed to be nothing more than common motor oil mixed with some petrol in water and doused liberally about.

Much to the Pureblooded Wizarding family's embarrassment, as it turned out at long last, their own son had been strewing the stuff about, courtesy of his Squib girlfriend, presumably to throw off 'the authorities'. And, true enough, 'the authorities' (those being his disapproving parents, of course) had spent their energies puzzling over how their son could have got a hold of such contraband (albeit apparently ineffective) ingredients, rather than speculating that perhaps they had been innocuous Muggle products all along.

All in all, Hermione suspected the young lad wasn't feeling any the worse for wear. His parents were so relieved that he wasn't starting a seedy life as a young drug lord, smuggler, or dark-lord-upstart that they had barely batted an eye when the metaphorical curtain was thrown back to reveal it all as a ruse to cover up his teenage angsty-drama. A Squib girlfriend was preferable to a presumed life in Azkaban looming ahead.

Any hold-outs they might have had were easily enough dismissed when Draco (arguably from one of the most egocentric old families out there) had acted sincerely scandalized by the very prospect the boy had felt the need to hide it to begin with. "Why, one might have thought you'd have given him the idea we were still living in the time of the Dark Lord," he had drawled thoughtfully – and then tried his darnedest to hide his smirk as the mother had frantically begun asking Hermione's advice on what Muggleborn focused charities were best to write a check to.

At the end of the day, the Wizarding family who had requisitioned their help had been very pleased with their combined ingenuity (cough, Hermione's familiarity with Muggle things, cough) and social sensitivity (Draco's smooth talking, and the Department's firmly-sealed-lips policy regarding investigations).

For once, Hermione had shoved the duty of turning in the final report onto Draco, despite his arrogant protests that it was 'secretary's work' (ignoring her glare and clipped question asking if that made her a secretary). He muttered something about it being plebian – then, abruptly, got a bright look, nabbed the report, and strolled out of the office whistling. He had been gone for quite awhile now…

To say she was mildly worried would be a bit of an understatement.

But then, just like that, he burst into the office with an exuberant air. "So, I was speaking with our Department Head –"

"Our? You mean _my_ Department Head! You're a consultant!"

"What's yours is mine, what's mine is mine, whatever," Draco waved away her concerns airily. Hermione smothered the urge to smirk as his (probably deliberate) perversion of the quote. Honestly, arrogant git though he was, he was terribly cute when he was clever.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on one's point of view), Draco was clever most of the time. Well, it kept her on her toes, at any rate. "What's mine is _yours_," she primly corrected the misquoted latter half of the expression.

"That's what I said," he replied obtusely. Hermione rolled her eyes, and Draco continued as if he hadn't noticed. "Anyway, so I was speaking to our Department Head, and he was _very_ intrigued when I proposed that we set up a special division for looking into the special cases that require a special cocktail of Muggle-sensibility with Wizarding gentility, like this last one… And, well, like most we've been doing."

"A special division? Draco, you're barking! They're already always complaining about funding, how in the world –"

"Well, I may have agreed to sponsor it." Draco coughed awkwardly, then waved a hand dismissively. "At least partially. At first. Or something like that, anyway."

"_Sponsor_ it? You do realize you're a _consultant_ here, right? You know how that works?"

"Yes, well, job security and all that," Draco quipped back, her words rolling off him like water off a duck. "Spend a galleon to make a galleon. Or gain a little shouldering power, as it were. With the number of Muggleborn joining the fold increasing as it has been, and the intermarrying and cross-integration, I imagine the caseload for this little cozy little special division will only skyrocket in time… And guess who's situated himself all tight and cozy to be the only slightly malevolent overlord – erm, Department Head – of this outfit once it gets rolling?" He leered. "Well, not single-handedly, of course. I'll share. And we can even divide time being the top and bottom – figuratively speaking." If possible (and apparently it was), his leer got a little more lascivious. Then, it softened a bit. "I mean, what with no hanky-panky between superiors and their staff, I guess we'll just have to keep things equal. Can't threaten that hanky-panky."

She waited – counted to ten, then, realizing he wasn't going to offer anything else, she finally capitulated. "So?"

He looked genuinely blank. "So?"

"So? What did he say, you git!"

"Well, there's no need for name calling," Draco sniffed, though his satisfied smirk belied the statement entirely. "That's a terrible way to start things out with your new bona-fide partner."

"_Partner?_"

"Well, seeing as my generous donation founded the department, you could call me _boss_ if you'd _really_prefer –"

"I wouldn't," she replied flatly. Draco caught her droll look and smirked saucily.

"It could make for a bit of fun roleplay –"

She felt her flushing face giving her away. It wouldn't _make__for_ a bit of fun roleplay, in some abstract theoretical sense – it _made_ for fun roleplay (made, as in, past and present tense! As in, they had already done it before, and found it passably enjoyable!), as they _both_ jolly well knew! Shame on him for bringing it up at work to embarrass her! "Draco," she growled warningly.

"Maybe I could bring The Desk back, and we could –"

"If that desk shows up, I'm hexing it into a million pieces," she growled in warning.

" – like that time we used those cuffs – you remember the ones –?"

"Draco!"

" – and you _liked_ the way I spanked you _so__hard_ before –"

A loud slam on the filing cabinet made them both jump. The irony was not lost upon Hermione when she turned to meet the stern glare of one Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Always-Walked-In-At-The-Most-Inopportune-Conversation-Point.

When the abruptly settled silence had stretched on just onto the far side of uncomfortable, Hermione abruptly clapped her hands in front of her. "Erm – right, so, that wasn't at all what it sounded like," she chirped with false cheer.

"I'm sure it wasn't," Harry deadpanned.

"You, sir, are far too gullible to the wiles of this woman," Draco jeered. "Dead wrong is what you are. But since you're so used to that state of being, I'm sure you do it on purpose to maintain your homeostasis," he added in a false consoling tone. If possible, Harry's deadpan look deadpanned a little more.

"As riveting a conversationalist you are, Malfoy, I'm not here to shoot the breeze. Just was coming back from a Department Head meeting, and since I was going to be passing by Hermione's office –"

"_Our_ office," Draco inserted glibly.

"Right, _Hermione__'__s_ office – I thought I'd drop this off on my way." He set down a several-inch-thick stack of papers – which Hermione openly boggled at – then stepped forward and handed her a manila envelope with a huge red "APPROVED" stamped on the front. He jerked his chin at the small mountain. "I guess this was a really good idea – turns out, they had a whole slew of cases just simmering around because they didn't have anyone specializing in inter-Muggle-Wizarding relations to take them." His slightly peeved look slid away to be replaced by a glow of genuine pride and excitement as he pressed it into her hand. "I'm sure there will be a ceremony and department title plates stamped and letterhead stationary printed and all that hoo-hah coming later, but just the same, congrats on the new appointment, Hermione. If anyone deserves this, it's you." He cast a sidelong glance at Malfoy, and valiantly (half) fought a grimace off his fight. "And I guess you maybe kinda aren't such a bad choice either, Malfoy."

"Malfoys were born to lead," Draco replied flippantly. He had already settled himself listlessly into his chair and had it leaned back so far that it wouldn't even take a stiff breeze to blow him over – probably just a faint one would do.

Harry ignored Draco – and, to his infinite credit, also ignored the paper airplane that went whizzing dangerously close past his face a moment later. His rolled his eyes heavenward, as if asking the deities for patience.

It was a lost cause, at any rate; Hermione would know. She affected that look quite often, for much the same reason.

"_Anyway_," Harry huffed. "Congratulations, Hermione." He leaned forward and nabbed her into an impromptu hug. "Plus, if you're going to be on the careful-tread cases from now on, I bet I'll get to work with you every once in a blue moon. Auror presence is always a good idea when things might go a bit wonky and some Obliviation might be needed, I'd wager, and, well – I'd be insulted if you asked for anyone but me."

"Prepare to have your sensibilities gravely insulted," Draco inserted dryly.

Both Harry and Hermione ignored him. "Of course, Harry. Of course." She blinked several times, still stunned and trying to catch up with what was happening. Apparently sensing that, Harry grinned again and gave her a cheeky little salute.

"Well then – I'll see you later! We're all meeting up at Ron and Luna's later this week for dinner, right?"

"Yes, yes," Hermione replied distractedly, eagerly unwinding the cord that pinned the envelope flap shut at the top.

"Hopefully she sticks with a more, hm, traditional menu this time around. I don't know if I could stomach another, hm, 'culinary adventure' like we partook last time at her urging," Draco drawled, wrinkling his nose slightly in recollection. Hermione wrinkled her nose as well; she was a dutiful girlfriend, but she doubted anybody could claim to _enjoy_ stroking the hair of their significant other as they puked their guts out over the porcelain throne.

"For once in my life, I am in total agreement with you," Harry responded, looking just a tad green around the gills. Shaking off the reverie, he turned and strode to leave her office, but paused at the door to turn back and grin brightly at Hermione. "Oh, and 'Hermione – brilliant work on the new department name! You're so clever - haha, I bet those stuffy old curmudgeons had no idea!"

And then he was gone, before Hermione could voice the obvious question. "What brilliant name?" she mumbled distractedly, finally freeing the top latch on the manila envelope and pulling the paperwork free.

Draco spoke up the exact moment her eyes alighted on the big, bold, underlined words on top of the page, congratulating her on her co-partnership heading up the new department, so aptly titled…

"The X-Files, of course. And it's high-time we christen in that X-rating, wouldn't you say?"

=0=

_fin_


End file.
